Chuck vs Sweet Home Alabama
by DrMcDuck
Summary: A movie triggers a loaded question, an instinctive answer, and some interesting repercussions. How was both their cover and their emotions going to get out of this one unscathed? Not so much on the one-shot anymore, Chuck/Sarah.
1. Chapter 1

Chuck vs. _Sweet Home Alabama_

A movie triggers a loaded question, an instinctive answer, and some interesting repercussions. How was both their cover and their emotions going to get out of this one unscathed? Not so much on the one-shot story anymore, Chuck/Sarah.

Rating: T, for a handful of instances involving strong language. (Always erring on the side of caution.)

_A/N: I am horrible at writing synopses without giving away the amusing part (or at least what I think is the amusing part) or without making the story sound like something it's not. NBC and I apparently have something in common. Don't hate me for my lackluster synopsis. For the story, sure, but please, not the synopsis!_

_This one's been kicking around in my head for a while, but this is the first chance that I've had to actually sit and write it out. After the last one-shot I wrote, I decided that I needed to write something a bit more humorous and a whole lot more Chuck/Sarah friendly. (Though I apparently am more comfortable writing angst, seeing as this story took me [literally] three times as long to write compared to my previous one.) Still undecided about whether I like how it came out or not. I really don't have an idea of where this story would "fit" in terms of episode canon. Sometime after 2.02 ("Chuck vs. the Seduction"), but when, exactly…who knows. You be the judge of where…if anywhere. Perhaps sometime in the future?_

_Per the usual, I proofed the story a few times, but I undoubtedly missed a few errors. I apologize now for them. Several italicized words in a row tend to denote a character's thoughts. The standard disclaimer also applies: I don't own _Chuck_, because if I did, I'd have all the free time in the world and this story would have been written weeks ago when I first thought of it. Blasted day job._

-.-.-.-

Ellie had issued the edict earlier in the week. Her and Awesome's wedding was drawing closer, and there were still _far_ too many unplanned details. Chuck and Sarah were expected to be at the Bartowski home on Friday night for dinner and serious wedding planning. If they were not present, unspeakable horrors would befall them both.

What details remained unplanned, however, remained a mystery to Chuck. _About the only thing that hasn't been nailed down yet is the light bulb wattage for the ambient lights at the reception hall_, he couldn't help but think. Nonetheless, Ellie had spoken. Chuck duly informed Sarah about their newfound plans for Friday night, which she had happily agreed to. He'd even managed to deliver the "unspeakable horrors" threat to Sarah with a straight face while informing her about Ellie's edict, but her raised eyebrows and stifled laugh had soon dispelled the straight face.

Walking back to the Buy More after talking with Sarah, Chuck couldn't help but reflect on the predicament that the wedding had gotten him into. He had absolutely no issue helping Ellie plan her wedding. In fact, he enjoyed finally being able to give something back to his sister. He also had absolutely no issue with Sarah helping to plan the wedding. What he did have an issue with was the amount of time Sarah and he had to spend together while planning the wedding. _Any time with Sarah is absolutely fabulous, but all this wedding talk is going to cause _trouble, he silently thought. Awesome had already hinted at the fact that he thought that Chuck and Sarah should get married, and Chuck was nearly positive that Ellie agreed with Awesome's assessment. Therefore, both Chuck and Sarah had been forced to play up their cover even more than normal—a couple that seemed to be on the path toward eventual engagement, and was helping to plan a wedding in which both halves of the couple were playing a large role, would probably act a bit more couple-ish than normal.

The new cover maintenance because of the wedding was where the trouble lay. Chuck could feel the two of them growing closer, which was wonderful, but it was starting to get them into certain…situations. They were starting to actually _act_ like a real boyfriend and girlfriend. With both of them fighting their feelings, both were starting to slip—they would both do things that would be good for a normal boyfriend and girlfriend to do, but created a bit of an awkward situation for them, specifically. Such slips included coming up behind the other and whispering something into the other's ear, causing the other to jump a mile (one of Sarah's slips) or pulling one into the other's lap as the one walked by in order to say something (one of Chuck's). The slips were becoming more and more frequent, and while the ones thus far were always fairly easy to get out of gracefully, there was the very real possibility that the future slips would be far less forgiving.

By the time Friday evening had rolled around, Chuck's wish was simple. It was the same wish he always made once he noticed the effect the planning meetings were having on both of them, but a wish that he made with increased intensity as of late. _Please just let us get through tonight without causing trouble_, he silently intoned as he let Sarah into the apartment and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Ellie's Friday Evening Edict started with an excellent, home-cooked dinner before the "serious" wedding planning had begun. At the onset of the "planning" phase of the evening, Ellie sweetly, but sternly, moved everyone into the living room and had put in the movie _Sweet Home Alabama. _When Chuck asked why they needed a movie on as background noise, and a chick flick, no less, he was told very seriously by Ellie that they needed it "for inspiration during the planning session." The other three were all a bit incredulous at the source of "inspiration," but Awesome professed the idea and the selection to be "Awesome!" once Ellie had noticed the looks of barely concealed amusement passing between the other three and gave Awesome a look of her own.

With everyone firmly ensconced in proper planning position—Ellie in an armchair, Awesome sitting on the floor in front of said chair, and Chuck and Sarah next to each on the couch—Ellie started the actual planning. The first of "many" unplanned details, according to her, was the color and fabric type of the tablecloths and chair covers at the reception. There were many advantages and disadvantages to each type and color, which she proceeded to expound upon enthusiastically at length. Her fellow planners gave one another a look of shock before quickly draining their beverages, particularly the alcoholic ones. The movie running in the background wasn't helping make Ellie's soliloquy any more bearable. It was a two-front wedding assault: Ellie had the one side covered, and the movie had the other.

When the latter reached the scene involving red roses blanketing every surface in the main character's apartment, Chuck downed the rest of his drink in one gulp and, when he saw the look that Ellie and Awesome exchanged, decided to flee to the relative safety of the kitchen for a refill. The look was not lost on Sarah, either, and seeing the perfect opportunity for a slight breather in the Fabric Discourses of Dr. Ellie Bartowski, she called them out on it. Awesome's response was typical Awesome.

"Nothin'. Just thinkin' that the sender would have had more luck if he'd gone with rose petals instead of actual flowers, that's all."

Chuck was _definitely_ fleeing to the kitchen now. He knew exactly what Awesome was talking about, as did Sarah, and Chuck did _not_ want to hear ANY details. Scooping up Sarah's empty wine glass to refill as well, he scooted off before the conversation continued, which he had no doubt it would. Sure enough, Sarah sweetly continued, sensing another opening for a breather from Ellie's fabric talk.

"Rose petals? What am I missing, here?"

Chuck tuned out Ellie's answer—it undoubtedly involved the CIA/Awesome's perfect evening of intense seduction, with the scattered rose petals all over the apartment, the fire in the fireplace, and freshly baked pecan pie—and gave himself a slight pat on the back as he moved around the kitchen. _So far, so good, Bartowski_. The night had been going well, aside from Ellie's adorable, but highly taxing, discussion about fabric. Neither he nor Sarah had managed to slip yet, even though they'd been sitting fairly close during dinner and on the couch. Ellie's query to Sarah, as the former spread out various fabrics across the coffee table, made him tune back into their discussion as he leaned far into the refrigerator to grab himself another drink.

"What about you, Sarah? What would be your perfect evening of intense seduction?"

The question took Sarah by surprise, but she answered it without much thought while looking at the swatches of fabric.

"Well, actually, my ex's probably would have had to do something like that—not that there's anything wrong with it at all!—but honestly, all this one," tilting her head back toward the kitchen to indicate Chuck, "would have to do is give me the Bartowski eyebrow dance and smile at me, and I'd be gone."

A thud emanating from the kitchen, quickly followed by Chuck's muffled yelp, immediately snapped Sarah back to the present. Not even noticing Ellie's overjoyed expression in response to her answer or Awesome's…awesome expression, she silently began to curse. The rational, appropriate answer would have involved something rather vague and non-committal. Instead, she acted as if her and Chuck were really dating, and went with instinct rather than rationality and spoken the truth…way too much of the truth, actually. They'd been doing so good all night, too. _This damn wedding is going to cause _trouble_ down the road_, she vigorously told herself for the tenth time that week as she heard Chuck recover in the kitchen.

Chuck stepped out of the immediate kitchen area dumbfounded, both of their drinks in hand. _The eyebrows? Come on, really!_ He had to ask. Rounding the couch and carefully placing their drinks on a non-fabric covered portion of the coffee table, he started to talk.

"Whoa whoa whoa, hold on a minute. You're telling me that all I'd have to do is this…"

…beginning to give her the bedroom eyes with a completely genuine Chuck Bartowski smile, earning him a wide-eyed expression in return…

"…and then come in at you like this…"

At which point he started to lean toward her while still waggling his eyebrows up and down, prompting an unbidden smile to come to her face as she placed her hands on his shoulders in a half-hearted attempt to ward him off.

"…and then start firing the guns at you goin', 'Hey baby, what's up?' "

A line delivered while simultaneously tickling her stomach with one hand, causing her to reflexively curl up toward him in an attempt to minimize the area left 'unguarded' to tickling, with her laughing all the while. Chuck's continued lean throughout the dual verbal-tickling attack had them both horizontal within seconds. Sarah was completely pinned to the couch with the actual couch behind her, Chuck's forearms fencing her in on the sides, and Chuck himself blocking the front.

"So, all I'd have to do is that, and it'd work?"

As he said it, with his face mere inches from her neck as a result of her reflexive, tickle-protective curl, he could feel her involuntarily shiver. The fact that her hands had slid up from his shoulders to the back of his neck wasn't helping matters as a whole, either. Nor was the fact that her fingers were starting to slowly play with his hair. About the only thing that they had going for them at the moment was the fact that most of his weight was on his forearms instead of her…and even that was a stretch.

Still waiting for her response, he decided to expedite the process (_Or delay it indefinitely_, chimed the voice in his head) by nearly closing the small gap between his lips and her neck when he felt her breath hitch before her fingers froze and the rest of her body tensed, something probably unperceivable to anyone except someone right on top of her. Her tensing up was the shove his sluggish mind needed to catch up to the present, and he suddenly realized what he'd managed to get both of them into. They both ended up thinking the same thing at the same time.

_Shit! This was exactly the sort of trouble this wedding's been cooking up for weeks! And this is the sort of trouble that's hard to get out of!_

Chuck became acutely more aware of every place where their bodies were lightly touching…AND the fact that Ellie and Awesome were still in the room, looking both shocked and delighted at the event that had unfolded on the couch before their very eyes. How was he going to get both their cover and their emotions out of this one unscathed?

_Doing what seems completely obvious is…just…out of the question. OK, could I just sit up? Possibly. I could just use the anti-PDA excuse…but I _did_ start it, so that'd fly about as well as a rock. Come on, Chuck…think think think. We need minimal contact to get out of this one. …what if I we just somehow modified the obvious to look real, but so that it was controlled? …what the hell IS that, even? How'd it work? Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreat…_

Sarah's answer to the question he'd asked what seemed like a lifetime ago cut off his train of thought. She wasn't as tense as before, but she was certainly still very much aware of their predicament.

"Mmhmm, it'd totally work. Though if you wanted to cover a room in rose petals, I wouldn't complain."

The ball was back in his court. He had exactly one second before he had to somehow react to her answer before it would start to look suspicious. _Time's up. Chuck's Grand Plan for Quick Resolution is "modified and controlled obvious." _Sarah's answer had at least given him a little more time to think about their situation. Some sort of kiss giving was practically expected, given what he'd maneuvered them into. The key was going to be well-placed, but quick, kisses to fulfill the expectation. But not too quick, because that would look suspicious. So, kisses real enough to pass the Ellie and Awesome test, but quick enough to avoid having to deal with any emotional fallout for him and Sarah. Completely doable. He didn't know why more people didn't have fake girlfriends for whom they had very real feelings. Putting the plan into action as he talked, he got ready to sit them both up as soon as he'd finished.

"Oh reeeeeeeeeeally? Then I guess…"

…planting a gentle kiss on her neck, trying to desperately ignore her fingers holding on to his hair even more firmly than before in response.

"…I'll have to keep that…"

… planting another one on her jawline, and found himself now having to ignore both her fingers and her smoldering gaze as he continued toward his final destination.

"…in mind."

With that, he moved in for the final kiss—a quick one to the lips. Their lips meeting nearly sent Chuck's Grand Plan for Quick Resolution out the window. The jolt created by the contact made every inch of his skin feel like it was on fire. Sarah actually _responding_ to the kiss (which wasn't wholly unwelcome or completely unexpected…if it were under any other circumstance) also didn't help matters any. The Grand Plan officially went out the window when, as he tried to pull away, one of her hands slid around to cradle the side of his face, with the other still behind his neck, the latter offering enough resistance to strongly discourage Chuck from going much of anywhere. With the Plan out the window, he melted back into the kiss, which kicked up a few notches in intensity once he did. Seconds later, he was beginning to wondering how he could get his hands in the game without officially pinning her to the couch when something pulled him back to the present for the second time that night.

His cell phone started to ring. _You've got to be kidding me_.

Quickly breaking their kiss with a slight growl, Chuck reached down to fish his cell phone out of his pocket, trying to focus on the cell phone as he did so, and not the beautiful woman under him, or the two doctors sitting a few feet away from them both. _THAT was smooth_. The self-admission, coupled with the interruption, resulted in an annoyed and slightly out-of-breath tone when he finally answered the phone.

"Hello?"

She took the chance to bury her head in his shoulder—the closest place to hide, albeit not the smartest—trying desperately to catch her breath and to dispel the flushed color from her face before facing Awesome and Ellie. _Not smart, Walker. Not smart times 50. He almost had us out of that one until YOU pulled him back down._ Startled by the sudden presence of his hands behind her neck and under her back, her head snapped up as he sat them both up, grabbing the phone back from the crook of his neck and standing as soon as he was sure that she was seated comfortably. His departure from the couch was explained by the next words uttered as he moved around the apartment, gathering his keys and briefcase.

"Yes, sir: _I_ am the on-call Nerd Herder for all computer emergencies…?"

With a few more polite exchanges, he hung up and sat himself on the arm of the couch before immediately calling Morgan. After a few terse exchanges, he hung up again, and ended up smacking his tightly gripped phone against his forehead a few times before looking apologetically at everyone.

"I'm so sorry, guys. Morgan apparently wanted some…time with Anna tonight and had me take her on-call shift without telling me. This sounds like it should be an easy fix, though, so it shouldn't take long."

Judging by Chuck's not-pleased tone while he was on the phone with Morgan, both Ellie and Awesome assured Chuck that it was fine and that they'd wait for him before resuming the discussion of unplanned details. Relieved that they didn't suspect him of trying to skip out on the meeting, he turned his attention to the blonde next to him on the couch. Finally looking at each other for the first time since the entire couch episode had occurred, their eyes communicated volumes.

"Please don't kill me?"

The multiple meanings of the phrase were obvious. She pretended to ponder his request before answering with a slight smirk, eyes never leaving his.

"You'll live. For now."

Leaning down to quickly kiss her on the cheek, he flew out the door. While walking to the Herder, he tried not to think too hard about everything that had just transpired on the couch, including how he'd slipped, they'd both realized it, and then _she'd_ slipped, with him following soon thereafter. Fallout from that would have to be dealt with later, as implied by Sarah's answer. The ironic redundancy of the evening stopped him dead in his tracks as he thought about the _generalities_ of what had happened. He couldn't act on his feelings toward Sarah because of his one job, and even if he were able act on those feelings, his other job seemed to have other plans for him tonight. AND, he was missing the currently evil, but ultimately important, wedding planning session because of the other job. The immediate conclusion he reached before resuming his walk to the Herder was a simple one.

He hated his job right now. Both of them.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: The amount of surprisingly positive reviews from the initial one shot was astounding. That, coupled with nearly the same amount of reviewers urging me to continue the story, made me at least seriously consider the prospect of continuing one night earlier…last week, now. An hour or so later, I had managed to come up with a passable plot (or at least what _I_ think is a passable plot) and even more Chuck/Sarah-friendly moments to intersperse throughout, and I've been in the process of typing since. So, that said, why not—a small continuation it is. For those who thought that this story did better as a one-shot, my apologies—please don't kill me. For those of you who wanted the story continued—please don't kill me if you end up hating where this went. I think I've now sufficiently protected myself from all possible killing. Moving on…_

_I'm going to try getting the entire thing finished within the next week or two. There won't be that many sections after this one—thinking only one or two chapters should do it for a few reasons. The plot and interactions I have in mind are fine, but have the ability to be compactly written (and I gravitate toward compact); and much more practically, I simply don't have the time to write a huge epic tale at the moment. If it was an epic tale, the story would most likely never get finished, and that's not fair to the readers at all._

_Of course, the usual: I proofed it, I may have missed some mistakes for which I apologize, character thoughts are denoted in italics, and I don't own _Chuck_._

-.-.-.-

When the customer had initially described his computer emergency, Chuck's initial reaction was "spyware": the customer was describing sluggish performance after an evening of reading and answering backlogged work emails, followed by an hour or so of reading a few articles online and watching some news video clips. Certainly not a fatal problem, and one that didn't warrant a call to the Nerd Herd as an emergency, but if the customer didn't want to wait until the store opened in the morning and opted to pay for him to drive over in order to fix said problem, Chuck wasn't about to argue with extra income. _Even if the call did interrupt the planning and the…other thing_. His initial spyware diagnosis was what had allowed him to tell Awesome, Ellie, and Sarah that he wouldn't be long at all.

Once he had actually gotten to the customer's condo and looked at the computer, he discovered that it was most certainly _not_ spyware. It was something else, but he wasn't sure what. Two hours later, he had figured out that it was a new virus—_A worm, actually, because I'm pretty sure it's infecting computers without the user doing anything, but let's not get technical_—that hogged an unbelievable amount of system resources, and while he hadn't figured out mode of transmission yet or what, exactly, the virus did, he had come up with an on-site fix to remove it. The fix wasn't pretty, but it did its job, and the customer was extremely grateful to have a functioning computer again.

Instead of feeling vindication at figuring out the problem and finding a way to fix it, Chuck was instead feeling irritated. Trudging back through the courtyard after the call, the repair had taken nearly 10 times as long as he thought it was going to. _I told Ellie that it was going to be an easy fix. Maybe I won't live long enough for Sarah to kill me—Ellie'll do it first._ He opened the front door just in time to hear Ellie give her final proclamation, with a slight bitterness toward the end of the sentence.

"That settles it, then. We all like this fabric and the color, so that's what it'll be."

Trying to sneak in as best he could, he eyed the swatch she was holding up. The color was tolerable, as was the fabric. Whatever made his sister happy was fine with him.

"I like the color, El. It looks nice."

Chuck was surprised that Ellie didn't get whiplash from turning toward his voice so fast. The look he was getting from Sarah wasn't hostile, but it was far from friendly. Devon was the only one shooting him a sympathetic look. _Great, here we go: the Battle of the Sexes, Revisited. Super spy and super sister against the nerd and the doctor._ Ellie took no time in letting Chuck know exactly what she thought.

"Huh, nice of you to join us, Chuck. What happened to that 'easy fix'?"

It was then he realized he probably should have called to let them know that he'd be longer than he anticipated. The vibe he was getting from Sarah now made sense. Sighing at the mess he'd made of the evening, he walked straight to the couch and plopped down near Sarah.

"I know, I should have called. I thought it was something simple, but it turned out to be something that there was no fix for, so I had to go from scratch. Calling just never entered my mind because I was trying to finish so quickly so I could get back. I'm so so sorry."

_Leave it to Chuck to say exactly the right thing_. He looked guilty enough, too. Taking pity on him, Sarah leaned over to put her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest. He reflexively snuck his arm around her waist and put his own hand over hers to hold it in place. A beat passed before Sarah realized what had transpired.

_Damn it, here we go again. Slip count for the evening is now Bartowski, 2; Walker, 2. At least this one's easy to get out of_.

Ellie took pity on Chuck, too, giving Sarah the out she needed by drawing attention away from the two of them on the couch.

"It's OK, Chuck, really. I know that you're going to be giving Morgan an earful in the morning," to which Chuck immediately nodded like a bobblehead, causing Sarah to elbow him while stifling a chuckle, "and we picked a fabric, so I can call the reception hall tomorrow to let them kn…"

Ellie was rudely interrupted by the ringing of Chuck's cell phone for the second time that night. _Unbelievable_. He scrambled for it before its annoying repetitive chirp pattern started over.

"Hello? … Yes…yes, sir, I remember you. … It's back again? You SAW me remove it, though, right? … What have you done since I left 15 minutes ago? … (sigh) No, sir, apparently the source of the infection is still on your machine, or you got reinfected somehow. … No, sir, I'm not sure which. I'm going to have to come back and look at it. … Yes, sir, I'll be back over there within the half hour."

Chuck was up and moving before he even hung up, not wanting to meet the disappointed looks of the other three. _I get back into their good graces _just _in time for me to leave again. Great job, Chuck._

"Guys, I'm really so so sorry. It looks like this is going to be a long night. Just keep going with the planning and just show me what you guys decided later, OK?"

There was an audible scoff from the direction of the armchair. Ellie was having none of that, and Awesome was nodding his agreement with her as she spoke.

"Don't be ridiculous. This isn't your fault. We'll just reschedule for early next week…? Monday, maybe? Another dinner, movie, and planning evening?"

_Oh no, not another movie. One problem at a time, though._ Chuck was grateful for Ellie's concession. He knew how much she wanted to get the rest of the details resolved tonight, and definitely wasn't about to look the gift horse in the mouth.

"Rescheduling would be really great…and I _really_ appreciate it. I'm not sure what work's going to look like next week for either of us, but that's works for me at the moment. Sarah, what about you?"

Shaken out of her daydream of how bizarrely normal this discussion sounded, she compensated by rising from the couch and bringing her long-empty wine glass into the kitchen.

"Uh…yeah, same—I can at the moment, but work has a way of being…difficult."

Letting out a small laugh—"_difficult" would be one way to put it_—he followed her toward the kitchen and leaned on the counter near the sink so he was perpendicular to it. He was all too familiar with Sarah's "getting ready to leave" procedure, and spoke just loud enough so that Ellie could hear.

"Sweetie, you can stay, really."

Ellie vehemently seconded Chuck's sentiment, giving him time to try to ignore the fact that he shifted back into boyfriend mode so easily and that the "sweetie" actually came out natural sounding.

"Sarah, really, please—stay for a little while longer. It's not that late."

Looking up and the ceiling before looking back down at Sarah, who was now in a similar position—her hip against the counter, facing him—after dealing with her glass, he continued.

"I'm not sure when I'll be back, but you know where all my spare t-shirts are and stuff if you just end up crashing…"

_Now isn't that incredibly tempting, if not incredibly stupid_.

"…but I should let you know that my _scheduled_ on-call shift starts at midnight, so this," holding up his cell phone, "will probably continue all night."

As if on cue, the phone rang again. The prospect of being woken up every 30 minutes by Chuck's phone ringing did not sound appealing. Even if they couldn't talk about tonight—not an outrageous assumption to make, with the phone ringing off the hook and what her answer was going to be—she wasn't letting him off the hook for the major couch slip without at least a parting shot.

"I've got work early tomorrow, Chuck, and given what activities _you_ have in mind…"

…giving him the eyebrow dance back, making his own shoot up as she slowly inched toward him…

"…given that your phone doesn't interrupt again,"

…giving him a pointed glare, slowly creeping her hand up his arm closest to her as she parked herself a little too close to Chuck.

"…staying the night would probably not be wise."

The action unfolded before she could even react, yet it was like watching it in slow motion. Chuck snagged her by the hip with his free hand and pulled her flush against him, turning so that his back was to the counter in the process. With one hand on the counter and the other now sliding to the small of her back, her own creeping hand had ended up behind his neck, and the other was now planted firmly on his chest, with it instinctively flying out to brace her 'fall' when Chuck had spun her.

"Not wise, eh?"

_Shit, again?_

"Yes, not wise."

Just like this wasn't particularly wise. She had only intended to inch closer _to_ him, an action that would have been second nature months ago. It was a simple action that solidified their cover relationship without actual contact. She had NOT intended to end up inches _from_ him. That tended to have more real consequences. Her thoughts repeated to what they were milliseconds before: _Shit, again? Was I NOT just in a rational state of mind 10 seconds ago?_

Unconsciously, they both started leaning in to kiss one another with slight smiles on both of their faces. The phone, which seemed to be eerily silent for the seconds prior to the second fairly major slip of the evening, decided to start ringing again, stopping Chuck in his tracks. Its ring apparently was serving as the wake-up call to reality tonight. However, she couldn't help but give the answer that had been on the tip of her tongue on the couch as the phone continued screaming out its ringtone, with their lips nearly touching.

"Chuck, if you answer that phone _right this instant_, you are in some SERIOUS trouble."

The range of emotions that crossed his face—prepared to comply and kiss her before progressing into shock as he comprehended what she said before finally moving to a thoroughly confused face—reinforced what she was already screaming at herself. _Instinct before rationality again. Brilliant_. Saving him from having to choose the correct answer, she gave him an extremely fast peck on the lips before backing out of his loose hold and heading back toward the rest of the apartment to get her purse and coat. It took him a few more seconds to recover from everything and finally answer the phone. As suspected, it was another Nerd Herd emergency call. The customer was not amused by how long it took Chuck to answer the phone. Chuck was not amused that he had to answer it at all.

Still on the phone by the time Sarah had gathered her things and said goodnight to Ellie and Awesome, he juggled his phone and briefcase in one hand as he offered the other to her as they walked toward her car. The entire walk was spent with Chuck on the phone, making a valiant effort to get off it before they reached the Porsche; and with Sarah falling deeper into her own thoughts, reflecting on the multiple fiascos that had erupted this particular evening and how all of them seemed to have particularly real consequences for their day-to-day work and just…life in general.

With the customer on the other end still jabbering away as if her world was falling apart by the time the slowly walking not-quite-a-couple reached the Porsche, Chuck was relegated to mouthing a "see you tomorrow" to Sarah with a quick kiss to the cheek before sighing and resuming his conversation with the Jabbering Customer as he walked toward the Herder. Not even waiting until Chuck was a few feet away, Sarah swiftly entered her car and slammed the door shut, using a bit more force than was necessary. Sitting in the silence of her car for a few moments, she seemingly out of the blue slammed the steering wheel a few times before taking a few cleansing breaths and sticking the keys in the ignition.

_Now we have to talk about both the couch AND the counter tomorrow, instead of just the couch. Maybe we should just stay away from furniture that starts with the letter "c."_

_-.-.-.-_

Leaning up against the Herder counter facing the front of the store after the Nerd Herd virus briefing, Chuck frantically rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes in an attempt to wake up. It had been a _very_ long night. His decision to go all hands on deck and call in the entire Herd had, sadly, proven to be the correct one: today was going to be a day, if initial call volume was any indicator. And the store had only been open 20 minutes. _Understatement of the century_.

His unintentional positioning in front of the counter put Chuck in prime position to notice Sarah walk through the door, clad in her Orange Orange attire. Sufficed to say, he was expecting her to kill him as soon as she saw him because of the couch. And the counter. _Though the counter was TOTALLY her…sort of_. Bracing himself for possible death, he was pleasantly surprised when she broke into a huge grin upon spotting him and walked in his general direction. He apparently had a few minutes more to live than he thought. Despite being utterly exhausted, he couldn't help but unleash a huge grin back. He was so focused on Sarah that he didn't even notice Morgan slink up next to him.

"So, how's it going?"

Chuck was really not in the mood to have a conversation with Morgan. Little sleep had left him with little patience to deal with him and his altering of the on-call shifts. He slowly breathed in and out once before answering.

"Considering the amount of sleep I got last night, the fact that I didn't get to see my girlfriend for very long or really say goodnight to her, and the fact that we're all hands on deck on a Saturday, it's going GREAT, Morgan, thanks for asking."

Morgan nodded sagely and was about to respond when his mouth snapped shut again when he noticed Sarah's expression: it had changed from loving girlfriend to spiteful friend once she spotted the little bearded man.

"Chuck, why is your lady friend giving me dagger eyes?"

_You're lucky they're only eyes and not actual daggers_. Chuck wondered the likelihood that he'd be on the receiving end of the daggers—metaphorical or otherwise—by the end of the day.

"That would be because she was on the receiving end when the Nerd Herd call interrupted us."

Certainly not the obvious truth (and what Morgan would automatically assume was going on), but not a complete lie. At least Chuck had learned _something_ over the past year. Morgan nervously looked over his shoulder, evaluating his escape routes, before turning back to Chuck and whispering conspiratorially.

"Wait, the call that came in right before you called me?"

Chuck couldn't help but loudly whisper back as Sarah came into ear shot.

"Yeah, the call that came in during what was supposed to be _Anna's_ shift."

Sarah's dagger eyes had graduated to something far more substantial when she overheard Chuck's comment. They were more like…machete eyes. Or broadsword eyes. Giving Chuck a quick peck on the lips (_A little too much lingering, there, Walker—get your head in the game!_, something that she had told herself arduously during her self-given pep talk as she walked across the parking lot mere moments before) she focused the gaze's full power on to Morgan.

"Morgan. If you _ever_ switch Chuck's on-call shifts again without telling him, it will not be pleasant. Do we understand each other?"

The threat itself wasn't all that explicit. The malice with which it was delivered, however, was. Morgan got the message loud and clear, and was slowly utilizing his previous planned escape route as he backpedaled away from them both.

"Oh, totally. Sorry about that. And about the, uh, interruption. Really sorry. Won't happen again," and then, pretending to hear some imaginary summons, "Oh, what's that, Jeff? You need more beer? Coming right up!," after which he literally turn and ran.

Amused at the sight of Morgan's retreat, Sarah finally turned back to look at Chuck. With him still chuckling at Morgan, she was afforded the chance to really look at him without being caught. Her expression turned serious once she noticed his appearance.

"Chuck, you OK? You look a little…out of it."

"Yeah, I'm fine, just didn't get much sleep last night. Nothing coffee can't fix."

Noticing her arched eyebrows, he raised his hands up in front of him and preemptively answered the question that she was about to ask.

"No, really, it's fine. That thing that I fixed last night turned out to be a not-so-isolated incident. The phone was ringing off the hook for most of the night. Sleep was a little hard to come by, that's all."

_Good thing you didn't stay the night after all. _It hadn't helped that the number of calls during Chuck's _scheduled_ on-call shift had dramatically increased from the calls he fielded during Anna's, so not only had he pulled a double for on-call shifts, but he stayed up in between calls to figure out the virus and clean up all the code he'd written to deal with it, and then dragged himself to the store because of his own all-hands call for the Herders.

She didn't look convinced, but before she could say anything else, Casey walked by them and growled out a sentence, speeding up and putting serious distance from the by the time he'd finished.

"Home theater room. Now."

_Looks like we won't be having this talk now, will we_, she thought. She heard Chuck sigh as he grabbed his coffee mug with one hand and pushed off the counter. As they started walking toward the home theater room, Chuck drew her a little closer so he could whisper into her ear without being overheard by anyone.

"Was that a real kiss or a cover kiss, because I'm REALLY confused right now."

_Join the club_. The kiss was probably not smart. Just…that grin. She was totally a sucker for it, and had acted before her mind had a chance to scream the implications at her. Slip #1 of today was totally her. _This _WEDDING_ is going to cause even MORE trouble than it has already_. Her verbal answer was far less conflicted than her thoughts as she grabbed the handle of the home theater room and pulled it open.

"That was an I-didn't-kill-you-last-night-but-you're-not-out-of-the-woods-yet kiss."

His muttered reply as he walked through the door forced her to suppress a large grin.

"Great. I'll start freaking out after the briefing."

_-.-.-.-_

General Beckman started talking as soon as Sarah and Chuck came into view of the camera, not even giving Sarah a chance to take her normal stoic stance next to Casey or give Chuck a chance to sit on the couch.

"Mr. Bartowski, we have on record that you answered exactly 73 computer emergency calls last night."

_What the hell? Didn't see _that_ one coming._ Neither did Casey and Sarah, if the brief sidelong looks he got were any indication.

"Uh, I knew there were quite a few, but didn't know that there were 73. I'd believe it, though."

Beckman paused to glance down at a piece of paper she had in front of her. _Where was she going with this?_

"Do you have an idea as to why call volume was so high last night?"

_Is the sky blue? _He started nervously adjusting his tie.

"Yeah, all 73 calls last night were about a particularly obnoxious and nasty new virus…that's really a technically a worm…," Chuck got a scowl from Casey, "…but we won't get into that. Anyways, this new virus has been messing up computers pretty bad, so all the calls were about that. The virus is really obnoxious. And nasty. And new, too."

He was rambling, and he knew it. It generally happened when he was nervous. Or tired. In this case, both factors were present. The general's wince, normally triggered by said rambling, was not as noticeable as usual, though. Something was up; he still wasn't sure what.

"Is there a particular reason you didn't notify Agent Casey or Agent Walker about this virus?"

_What? Where'd that come from?_ He was thankful that Casey and Sarah seemed to be as confused as he was, though they were doing a far better job of hiding it. All of them were also sensing that the agents knowing about the virus would have been useful…somehow.

"…well, the virus is particularly obnoxious and nasty, no doubt…and new…but I didn't realize that I needed to inform them about it and that I was dealing with it…? I mean, they're both intelligent people, so it's not like I didn't tell them because I didn't think they'd understand, but I didn't want to bore them with the technical details of a normal occurrence for my boring day job. It just didn't seem…relevant, that's all."

_I can't believe that I just called Casey intelligent. Is this really what no sleep does to me? _

Beckman was looking down at the same piece of paper she'd been glancing down at throughout the brief. Finally, she shoved it away in disgust before looking back up at the camera.

"That's very nice of you to not want to waste the agents' time, Mr. Bartowski, but would you mind explaining to all of us what this virus is and does?"

Did he walk into a parallel universe? The head of the NSA was asking him to give a briefing on something? And, something that was non-Intersect related?_ Maybe Morgan made Irish coffee instead of just coffee_.

"I can give you guys the brief I gave my Nerd Herders a little bit ago, if you'd like. I'll warn you now, though, while there's not _too_ much technical talk in it, it's detailed. I can cut it down, if you'd like…?"

Beckman's eyes bugged out of her head at the word "detailed."

"The detailed version will be fine."

The way that Beckman said it, it sounded like an order to start talking immediately. Chuck was shocked at the order _and_ the fact that she wanted the detailed version. Casey's pained expression was obvious. Sarah just looked both shocked and puzzled at what was transpiring before her very eyes.

Not wanting to risk Beckman's ire, Chuck pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket—the paper he'd taken notes on all night—and fidgeted with his tie once more before diving into the Nerd Herd brief. In essence, the virus was an obnoxious and nasty one: obnoxious because it spread via changing the underlying code of any email sent from an infected computer, nasty because it created a copy of every single file on the computer and sent the files somewhere. Whoever wrote the virus was good—the actual infection itself was virtually undetectable—but overlooked something rather big. The fact that lots and lots files were being sent somewhere made the Internet and the computer run _slow slow slow_. It was the sudden slowness that people were noticing, calling in the Nerd Herd once the normal spyware and virus scans turned up nothing. Chuck had gone all hands on deck and called in every member of the Nerd Herd because of how easy it was to transmit ("Think about all the emails that are sent in a day," he said during the brief). There was no official fix out from the antivirus companies, and until there was, Chuck's fix was the only thing that removed the virus and protected against future infections.

Once Chuck finished, Casey's eyes were glazed over from information overload and borderline technospeak. Sarah had followed what Chuck was saying pretty much entire time, and was looking at him in amazement. _Just…wow._ He was smart, she knew that, but she seemed to forget exactly _how_ smart until he talked computer talk. She wasn't entirely sure if the reminder was going to make the rest of the day easier or harder. Watching him loosen his tie and undo his top button after finishing, she knew the answer. _Harder. Much harder._ Another beat passed before her agent persona screamed back into her conscious thoughts: _GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER! He's _talking_, for Christ's sake! What the hell's wrong with you!_

Beckman had a thorough mixture of grudgingly impressed and outright stunned on her face.

"Can you submit a report within the next hour with everything you just said in it?"

It was Chuck's turn to look shocked.

"Um…yeah, I guess. I mean, we're a little busy today…for the reasons I just described, so it might be a little hard. Can I ask why?"

Beckman looked at the paper that she had shoved out of the way earlier with a barely concealed contempt.

"The information that we have is far less detailed than that."

"…oh. Well, then, sure, if you care so much about it. I'll make it happen."

Turning 180 degrees upon receiving his acquiescence, Beckman finally unleashed the statement that put all the pieces together.

"Mr. Bartowski, this virus has serious implications for national security. We had indications that the virus could cause a problem for us, but we had no idea of the extent of it until now. If a government computer was infected, can you imagine the security risk? By not telling Agent Casey or Agent Walker about this virus once you discovered what it could do, you have endangered some of our country's most valuable secrets. They should have been your first call, and the fact that they were not is not acceptable."

Finally understanding the NSA director's motives, and not appreciating the implications of those motives, he fired right back at her, biting back the retort about the irony of him, the one with _all_ the secrets, endangering them.

"Yes, now that you mention it, I can honestly see how this would have national security implications. And I can understand how you may be slightly irate with me for not telling Casey or Sarah about the virus. But, really, no offense: I don't officially work for you, remember? 'National security' isn't my first thought when I'm doing this job. That's what _you_ pay people for. It's, 'Oh, look, broken computer.' If you want me to start watching out for national security risks while I'm fixing computers, I'll do it, but start paying me."

The director looked shocked, and started to speak several times before clamping her mouth shut again. An eternity seemed to pass before she seemed to realize the validity of Chuck's statement.

"I can see your point, Mr. Bartowski."

She paused before continuing.

"Could you find out who designed this virus and where the computers' files are being sent to?"

_Don't _you_ pay people to do that?_ He was calmer when he answered her again.

"I don't know, maybe. But, and I really mean this with less…emotion than the last statement: don't you actually pay people to do this stuff? Isn't this why you keep them around? Why use me?"

Her answer was refreshingly candid.

"Because you're the only person I've talked to yet today that has an idea of how this virus is SPREAD, let alone what it DOES."

The implication present in the statement was true. He had cussed up a storm last night while trying to figure out how the virus worked, and as irritated as he was with the NSA at the moment, he wouldn't wish that frustration on anyone else. _No need to reinvent the wheel._ Beckman, perceiving his hesitation, finally added.

"And we'll find a way to pay you…for this, that is. We'll have to negotiate for anything more…permanent," implying the Intersect and him watching out for national security risks while working at the Buy More.

It was official. He was in a parallel universe, where he got paid by the government, drank Irish coffee at work, briefed the NSA director, and thought John Casey was intelligent. _Maybe this parallel universe has me with a certain CIA agent as my real girlfriend, too_.

"Fair enough. I'll get you the report ASAP, and I'll start working on figuring out the virus' author and where the files are going as soon as I can."

Beckman looked pleasantly relieved, and reiterated the main points—type report, find author, find files, get paid—before cutting off the connecting off the connection without so much a word to Casey or Sarah. Both wheeled around and stared at Chuck as he pinched the bridge of his nose a few times and dove for his coffee mug. Casey was quite obviously livid at not being addressed once throughout the entire brief. Sarah was not livid, but with the look he was getting, Chuck was again silently revising the odds of him being on the receiving end of a dagger by the end of the day, and the odds were not changing in his favor.

_Time to start freaking out._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I tried to send everyone a thank you who reviewed the story when it was only going to be a single chapter, but doing that for the rest of the chapters might be a bit ridiculous. So: a blanket thank you to you all that reviewed, and I'm glad you're enjoying where this has gone thus far._

_I should note that this chapter properly earns the "T" rating I slapped on this story when I first wrote it. Consider yourself warned. The story also now takes place at least through 2.07 ("Chuck vs. the Fat Lady"), though I shamelessly ignore any of the issues created by that entire story arc._

_As an aside, I did turn on anonymous reviews, as a reviewer from the last chapter suggested. I'm not trying to increase my review count, I promise. It's only fair that people that really dislike the story get to say so without feeling self-conscious (and, yes, this might get us into a whole other debate that we are absolutely not having). Or, more optimistically, if you like the story and you want to say so but don't have a FF user name, it'll give you that ability._

_I blame nearly all the typos from the last chapter on Word 2007 because it displays text very strangely. (insert rest of normal McDuck disclaimer here) Happy New Year!_

-.-.-.-

"Bartowski, mind telling me why I just had to sit through you indulging your inner geek?"

Chuck wasn't sure how Casey managed to growl while he talked, but it was kind of impressive. The question Casey was _really_ asking wasn't all that hard to figure out: why was he hearing about this now rather than before? _Didn't I just go though this like…2 minutes ago?_ Taking advantage of the momentary one-front assault—Sarah had yet to join in the Chuck lynching, with her expression looking rather conflicted, but reflective—Chuck turned his attention solely to Casey.

"Because you're normally oh-so-interested in what I do, Casey. I couldn't resist holding out on you as long as possible, just to make your day."

Casey was inches away from Chuck's face within moments, with his fists wrapped around Chuck's collar, holding the top half of him over the arm of the couch. _Perhaps sarcasm wasn't the best tactic to employ with our Sugar Bear…_

"Forget to tell me something like this again, Bartowski, and then make me sit through a briefing like this, and I'll report how many evenings I've had to listening to you and Walker almost do the horizontal mambo."

Two heads audibly snapped toward Casey. Chuck even had an involuntary audible gulp sneak out. They had the exact same thought.

_WHAT!_

Chuck closed his eyes tightly. He was now absolutely positive that he was going to die by the end of today. _Thanks for that, Casey. You have the subtlety of a jackhammer._ He knew that he and Sarah had to talk about the slips for their own sakes. He didn't even consider the fact that Casey saw and heard every slip and had it on tape. Or the fact that he'd piss Casey off more than normal, provoking Casey into making the threat. Even though there had been NO near horizontal mamboing. _…other than the couch. And the couch doesn't count. That was absolutely NOT in the realm of the mambo._

Casey's comment snapped Sarah out of her semi-daydream about Chuck. _SHIT. _Never before had she wished so fervently that they had sucked it up and talked before the briefing. Casey wouldn't have gotten such a rise out of them both if they had. Her expression was not an amused one.

"We have _not_ almost slept together, Casey, and you can hardly blow us in for keeping up our cover."

"That excuse would fly with Beckman, Walker, but I spend time with you two. I'm…aware of what's going on."

_Maybe Casey should act as our relationship counselor, if he's SO aware of what's going on_. But, since his mouth had already gotten them into trouble, Chuck kept his thoughts to himself. It looked like Sarah was about ready to wage war. The words were firing out of her mouth, and her fists looked like they were going to soon follow.

"No, you really aren't aware of what's going on, or else we wouldn't be having this discussion. With the wedding coming, we had to step up our cover a bit or else Ellie and Devon would start getting suspicious. Everything is under. control."

Casey rolled his eyes and gave a small, sarcastic-laden grunt before letting go of Chuck's shirt completely, sending him tumbling over the arm of the couch and on to the ground below it with a slight girlish scream.

"Whatever. Just watch it. And, Bartowski—remember. If this happens again, game over."

Walking toward the door with what only could be described as a spring in his step, Casey exited the home theater room with a flourish, leaving an irate CIA agent and a half-asleep Herder in his wake.

Chuck scrambled up off the floor, rescued his coffee cup, and then half crawled, half stumbled out the door before Sarah had a chance to skewer him on sight. Waiting outside for her, he regrouped. The briefing had left him feeling tired. It was great that they wanted to actually use him for something other than the Intersect, even if all he could think of at the moment was a giant pile of pillows. Casey throwing a live grenade into the works left him feeling outright exhausted. Chuck knew they had to talk about how much they'd both been slipping lately, but Casey had forced their hand. _If CASEY felt the need to mention it, it must be bad. This is not going to end well. This wedding has officially cased some __serious__ trouble._

Sarah took another moment before joining Chuck outside. She was livid at Casey for so blatantly bringing up the white elephant in the room. She was livid at Chuck for continually contributing to the size of said white elephant. However, she was most livid at herself for her inability to detach and deal with the white elephant professionally—she was equally as guilty as Chuck when it came to the size of the elephant. Quite assiduously in agent mode for the foreseeable future, she stormed outside while muttering something under her breath about weddings, startling Chuck as he leaned on the glass wall right outside the door retightening his tie.

"Chuck? Walk me back to work quick?"

_Oh no_, he thought. This was going to be an out-and-out slaughter in her favor. Despite the imminent slaughter, he was still seriously considering walking her over, but one look at the Nerd Herd desk gave him his answer. Judging by the chaos surrounding it and the long line of customers, he didn't think that he'd be able to sneak out anytime soon.

"I'd love to, but…," nodding at the Nerd Herd desk, causing Sarah to turn and do a double take once she saw all the people, "I don't think I'm going to be able to take a break anytime soon. Plus, it just looks like we talked for a while in the theater room."

_Point to Chuck. I didn't even think about that. Damn it. I'll at least kill Casey first now instead of him._

He paused before dramatically offering her his arm.

"I will, however, walk you veeeeeeeeeery slowly to the front of the store."

Taking his offered arm with an impassive expression, they started walking toward front of the store. She figured they had about 30 seconds to discuss last night (_…and everything that Casey just very unceremoniously brought up…_) before they'd be at the front doors. _HA: plenty of time...not. How do we even begin to talk about this?_

"So, when were you going to tell me that you managed to single-handedly managed to figure out that there was a new virus, what it did, how to fix it, and how to prevent it from infecting computers?"

_We're going to start talking about this by bringing up something not completely relevant to the issue at hand and pretending like nothing's wrong while I try to calm down_, she answered herself. He was surprised at her light tone, even if it was forced, but tried to keep his voice just as light while adding some levity.

"Well, you know, you don't tell me every time you save the world. It just didn't seem like that big of a deal."

The attempt at levity backfired. It unintentionally seemed to increase her aversion to talking about the problem. That, coupled with Casey's charming confession, made her all too aware of what was at stake, kicking agent mode into overdrive. Lashing out at Chuck seemed easier than any of the other alternatives. The lightness previously present in her voice was gone completely when she answered.

"That would be because when I save the world, it's classified."

_Oh come on, you know he was joking with that line_. Agent mode didn't seem to care, and continued to make the discussion less amicable, with the words flying out of her mouth before she even realized it.

"And, Chuck, I think our cover is pretty solid. I think you can turn down the PDAs a bit."

There, she said it, even if she said it inaccurately: it wasn't all him. And they both knew it. Chuck, ever the gentleman, overlooked her oversimplification.

"Look, Casey saying something surprised me, too, and I know we need to talk ab…"

"Yes, I do think we need to TALK, instead of…"

He cut her off right before her voice officially crossed into the realm of yelling, with the implication of her last statement hanging precariously in the air.

"Is this really the best place to have this conversation?"

They were whispering again, but heatedly.

"Do you have a better spot in mind, because you JUST told me that you couldn't leave the store?"

The last jab wasn't fair, which she knew even as she said it._ It's not like he unleashed a rather nasty virus that affects nearly all Internet users. _Agent mode seemed to be slipping. She couldn't quite believe that they were having an argument about when they were going to have the other argument. The sigh that came from Chuck as they reached the front of the store (_Already?_—apparently she got a bit too wrapped up in arguing to notice where they were walking. _So much for agent mode_.) seemed to indicate that he couldn't believe it, either.

"OK, so we aren't going to magically resolve this right now. Here's what we'll do. I'm going get that report Beckman wants all typed up before she tells _Casey_ to kill me. After that, I'm going to try to get a few of the green shirts to help out on Nerd Herd duty so I can go home, power nap, and then work on the other stuff that our esteemed leader wants. How about you stop by after work, see where I'm at for Beckman's stuff, and then if I've finished it and Casey hasn't already, _you_ can kill me?"

A small smile had crept across his face by the time he'd finished talking animatedly, seeming to find his second wind as he went along. She felt the corners of her mouth tugging upward. _He's too damn adorable for his own good_. Remembering the events of the past half hour, the smile was promptly quashed, but only just. Walking out of the store, the relatively emotionless answer she gave over her shoulder was nothing short of a miracle.

"That's fine. I'll see you later."

As soon as she was out of the store—and away from Chuck's infectious energy—the anger erupted again. It was then that she came to a grim realization.

_I'm in serious trouble._

-.-.-.-

As the evening sun cast a pinkish light through the wide-open Morgan door, Chuck's room looked like a bomb had hit it. Papers were scattered all about, and there were no fewer than a dozen textbooks opened to various pages haphazardly stacked on one another. Chuck himself looked slightly better than the room. Clad in an undershirt and pajama pants, he was sitting cross-legged in his desk chair while balancing three books on his lap, looking back and forth between the code displayed on his screen and something he was reading in one of the books, absentmindedly twirling a pen in his free hand. He was still no closer to figuring out who authored the virus, but he was getting really close to figuring out where the files were being transmitted to.

A knock on the window caused him to turn around, revealing Sarah's head poking into the room. Her expression wasn't indicating much about her mood: it was a sort of neutral, but friendly, look. At the very least, she looked much less angry than she did after the brief that morning. After pecking at a few more keys on the keyboard, he stood up to help her in the window (_Like she needs it_), conveniently forgetting about the books on his lap. All of them, including a few from the desk, went crashing to the ground, despite Chuck's best efforts to catch a few of them as they fell. His sheepish grin as he glanced down at the mess at his feet broke through her neutral look, with a small smile popping out. Words started spewing out of his mouth as he offered his hand to step through the window.

"So, to answer your immediate questions: yes, I am really this uncoordinated, but you know that; yes, I slept and I feel better; no, I don't know who wrote this virus yet; and no, I don't know where the files are going, but I'm close to figuring out that last bit. The computer's just running something now."

Her eyes slightly widened as she perched on the edge of his bed. He had just managed to torpedo her carefully planned conversation, a conversation that would put off talking about the inevitable for at least 10 minutes. _So much for that._

"We have to talk about last night…and Casey."

_Never mind the fact that Casey's listening to this entire conversation. Nice job agreeing to a non-bugged venue, Walker._

His slight wince as he lowered himself back into his desk chair killed the light mood that had dominated the room after the book avalanche.

"I know. I really don't want to argue with you again: I'm really sorry about the couch. And the counter. And being so short with you this morning."

_Did he just expedite the conversation again?_ Not quite ready to talk about the furniture episodes, she latched on to the last part of his sentence.

"I…wasn't exactly in the best of moods this morning, either, so I hardly think you need to apologize for anything."

Sensing that she'd surprised him by actually acknowledging something she was feeling, she pressed her advantage.

"Casey's threat is serious, Chuck. If he ever reports what he said he's going to, I _will_ get reassigned, and that can't happen…"

"Wait, 'can't' get reassigned?"

_Shit! Come on, can you NOT get through two sentences without slipping?_ Feeling the slight blush creeping across her face, she masked her thoughts by giving him a slight glare for the interruption while calmly continuing on, hoping that the sunlight coming in the window would hide the blush.

"We need to get our act together. The excuse that we're stepping up our cover for the sake of the wedding is only going to work until the wedding actually happens. Casey already doesn't buy that excuse."

"Do you?"

…_I think this talk would have gone more smoothly when he was half-asleep and not as aware_. He was hitting all her statement's weak points. Her slightly stunned expression was probably enough of an answer. The computer politely beeping saved her from having to actually enunciate anything, because once Chuck turned around and saw what it was beeping about, he was half standing over the computer and was talking excitedly.

"I found out where the files are being sent! Look look look!"

Leaning closer to his wall lamp, he shouted at it with a grin.

"CASEY! I know you're listening. Set up a conference call with Beckman. We'll be over in a minute."

With the printer printing whatever it was that Chuck was so excited about, he retrieved his desk chair before sitting in it and facing her. He looked at her expectantly.

"So? Do you think we're slipping because of the wedding?"

She was still trying to not laugh at the fact that a grown man just shouted at a wall lamp without batting an eye, and was failing miserably.

"Didn't you just tell Casey that we'd be right over?"

He shrugged with a somewhat devious grin as he rocketed back up again and over to his closet to grab a button-down, fresh undershirt, and pair of jeans.

"Yeah, but now he's going to be setting up the conference and not listening to the bugs. I figure we have a few minutes before he'll be listening to the live bug feeds again."

…_now that's so ingenious that it's attractive_. Feeling the vestiges of agent mode slipping away for good with that thought, and knowing full well that Chuck's question shouldn't be answered _with_ agent mode, let alone _without_ it, Sarah answered another question entirely, not thinking it all the way through before it left her mouth.

"Look, for now, we just need to really watch it. The bad slips have GOT to stop. How about we both just keep our hands off one another, which'll be as much of struggle for me as it is for you."

…_why did you just admit that?_ Chuck had, not surprisingly, caught the admission. He had been changing in the closet, but his head had whipped the partially open door instantly. The grin that was on his face made the slight blush erupt into a full-blown one.

"…Sarah, did you just admit that you can't keep you can't keep your hands off of me?"

_Shit. For the ten millionth time today. And I thought I was doing good with him changing three feet away._

"Didn't you say Casey would only be busy for a few minutes?"

The eye roll was obvious, but the grin didn't leave his face when it disappeared back into the closet. It was at least a tempered grin when he stepped out, fully clothed, a moment later. His serious tone surprised her.

"I'm all for blaming this on the wedding, but we really need to actually talk about all of this, you know. Not Sarah-Walker-feeling-dance around it."

_Feeling dance! I DO NOT DANCE!_ She gritted her teeth as she stood up and walked toward the window and hopped outside before turning back to talk to him. _Where was this slight anger when I needed it a few minutes ago?_

"Fine, we'll actually talk about it. Just, please, for now: can we watch it?"

_And by "talk about it," I mean "you talk, and I listen and admit nothing," like normal._ Casey's door flew open across the courtyard, with the man standing behind it, giving them a suspicious look. Getting the message, Chuck hopped out the window, documents in hand. His grin had faded and had been replaced by a more resigned look.

"I'll redouble my preexisting efforts to watch it."

-.-.-.-

The briefing at Casey's had been a quick one. Once Beckman heard that Chuck had figured out where the files were being sent—a warehouse in Los Angeles (_Why are these places always in LA?, _Chuck thought. _Do we have discounts for renters that happen to be less than honest?_)—her orders was predictable: investigate the warehouse immediately, determine who and what was inside of it, and then take it over if the location proved to be correct.

They had all driven in the government-issued SUV, silence reigning supreme. Casey seemed pleased that they had a mission, and the other two were letting him revel in the fact, giving him a wide berth after everything that had happened over the past 24 hours. The plan itself was simple: Casey and Sarah would investigate the warehouse and its surroundings, Chuck would stay in the car and watch their video feeds for anything of both Intersect and virus importance. If there were people and computers inside, the agents would clear the building, after which they'd bring Chuck in to look at the equipment present, and more importantly, to verify that all the files being stolen by the virus were indeed being sent to that location.

Sitting in the driver's seat so as to look less conspicuous than he would if he were alone in the backseat, Chuck was staring at the video feeds like a zombie, doing a very good job so far of not thinking about Sarah beyond what was required for the mission. Both the agents had been gone for 20 minutes or so, and he'd yet to see anything interesting, other than lots of walls and pallets and barrels. With Casey going up a fire escape—and the jostling of the camera making Chuck slightly sick—he took the chance to look away from the small monitors and blink a few times. He was wondering how many more stacked barrels and pallets he'd have to look at, or if he'd even see a real human. _Could I have figured out the location incorrectly?_

A blur of motion on Casey's camera caught his eye before both video feeds went black, peaking Chuck's curiosity. When the feeds stayed black, alarm bells starting going off in his head. A few seconds later, the driver's side door flew open, startling him. _Wasn't that door locked? _Startling him even more was the fact that Sarah flew through the now-open door and ended up straddling him in the driver's seat, her weight thankfully not on his lap as she pulled the door shut. Her tone was clipped as she pulled her hair out of its standard mission ponytail.

"You have 30 seconds to make it look like we've been in here making out for 10 minutes."

He was pretty positive that his eyes popped so far out of his head that they actually fell out for a moment. Snapped back to reality by Sarah whipping off her black pullover and throwing it over the monitoring equipment in the passenger seat (_I suppose someone clad in black screams "SECRET SPY NINJA!" to some_…), he was finally able to stammer out a response, his voice going at least an octave higher than normal. The fact that his hands were comically raised high in the air in an attempt to not touch any part of her made his reaction all the more ridiculous sounding.

"Uh, really? I mean…do you think that's the best plan?"

_Doesn't this go against the one thing we managed to talk about a few hours ago?_

"A silent alarm was triggered somehow, and there will be guards scouring the area any second. Suddenly pealing out of the parking lot will be very obvious. I don't know where Casey is, but we either sell the fact that we've been blissfully oblivious to the world for a while, or we'll be dead, and then where Casey is will be irrelevant."

_Death is bad_. She was completely in agent mode right now. He could just tell. He had mixed feelings on agent mode. While it was excellent, given the situation she had just described, aforementioned mode allowed her to detach from reality. Again—an excellent thing: it was a property of agent mode that Sarah used often against him, in fact. Detaching from reality, though, _wasn't_ so great when that reality involved shedding pieces of clothing. This he knew from experience. The scene from the Hi-C/gas incident was replaying vividly through his head: she had stripped him nearly naked without hesitation, peeling off her own clothes left and right at the same time before shoving them both into the shower to scrub off the offending (non-)toxin. It was only after the danger had subsided that the reality seemed to catch up with her, if how closely she was clenching her robe after the strip-and-shower was any indication. A clenched robe would be the least of their worries after this one. One of them had to try to think like a non-agent, and it looked like that "one of them" was going to be him, because from what he could tell, the conversation from his room earlier was nowhere near her conscious thought process.

Her accidentally bumping against him as she gracefully removed her t-shirt and sent it whizzing by his head into the back seat made him catch back up with reality. _DEFININTELY in agent mode. _He found himself staring at the car's ceiling when she reached behind her to unclasp her bra. _…and that's DEFINITELY too far._ Hands still held high, his question ended up coming out as a hiss.

"WHAT are you doing?"

"If we've been in here for 10 minutes, you can't honestly tell me that this would still be on."

That was a question he certainly didn't want to answer. Rapidly thinking ahead to how the encounter would probably end, he started unbuttoning his own shirt while finally looking back down at her. She was probably on the verge of being completely topless and was still completely unaware of the fact at a non-agent level. _OK, I need to stop her from shedding anything else. And we have, what, 25 seconds left to make this believable or else we're dead? Noooooooooo pressure._

"I'm sorry, please don't kill me."

Her distracted response as she fiddled with the clasp confirmed what he already knew. She totally wasn't aware of what _exactly_ her plan entailed.

"Sorry for what?"

He gave up on the final two buttons of his own shirt and, rather than answer her, acted instead. Finally lowering his hands, he reached around in order to grab hers before they could do anymore damage. He noticed her surprised expression, right before he leaned forward and crashed his lips into hers, pouring as much as he possibly could into the kiss to elevate them to the making-out-for-10-minutes mark. Forgetting about the unsuccessful bra unclasp, her hands found their way to the sides of his face as she deepened the kiss; his hands lightly danced up and down the sides of her ribcage. Her shiver was palpable, kickstarting her brain to scream one last rational thought as it sped through the past 60 seconds: noticing the alarm going off, getting to the car, an ordered make-out session…

_Oh. My. God, IT'S CHUCK. Oh shit, I'm making out with Chuck. This is NOT go…_

Rational thought—and thought in general—after that point flew out the window as their tongues started dancing. His hands ended up coming to rest lightly on her hips, with hers sliding down his chest: Chuck hadn't finished unbuttoning his shirt, something she planned on remedying. The shirt, inexplicably, had to go. Making quick work of the last two buttons, her hands trailed back upward to push the shirt off his shoulders, mouths still fused the whole way. Having to slightly sit up to get the shirt completely off, Chuck took the opportunity to leave a trail of kisses up her jawline before working back down her neck as she finally won the battle with his shirt, tossing it toward the passenger seat, before weaving her fingers through his hair as he continued his way down her neck.

Her knees finally went weak as he worked one spot on her neck over and over again, sending her full weight crashing down on to his lap. Both were somehow able to bite back the moan that nearly erupted, but masking the hitch in their breath was impossible. The breath hitch seemed to intensify everything, with Sarah immediately recapturing his lips before he could move his attention anywhere else. With the noble premise of trying to not pin Chuck to the seat gone, his own hand snaked around to the small of her back to close the small gap that had been between them since the start of the session. His other hand went toward the lever to recline the driver's seat chair—horizontal was necessary—and wasn't surprised to feel Sarah's free hand reach the lever at the exact same time before the chair reclined. Sarah had just begun untucking Chuck's undershirt in her quest to feel more of his skin against hers, prompting Chuck to slowly run his hands up and down her back, when a loud shout outside managed to make them both aware of the outside world's existence again.

The thug pounding on the driver's side window fully put them both back the outside world. Simultaneously breaking off their long, and rather steamy, kiss rather suddenly, both struggled to catch their breath, silently looking at one another while they did so. Semi-rational thought reappeared. Fishing for his shirt with his right hand, he slowly clicked the seat back up with his left. With Sarah not quite back in commission yet, her face buried in Chuck's neck in the meantime, he draped the shirt over her barren shoulders—the reason he'd started unbuttoning it in the first place, figuring that someone would end up investigating the car—and lowered the window to be confronted by a group of three thugs standing patiently, but menacingly, outside the SUV.

"Can I, uh, help you, gentlemen?"

_That sounded rather polite, I think. Even if I sound like I just ran a marathon._

Their shocked faces at what they'd interrupted were priceless. One of them turned to whisper something to the other, and upon catching a glance an oddly capped tooth in the man's mouth, that's when the flash happened: a pile of firewood, a dental report about damage sustained and repaired on an official mission, an official dossier photo, a chart of known Fulcrum operatives, pictures from this particular operative's past Fulcrum missions, a pile of firewood.

_Oh great—the gang's officially all here: the Intersect's here, Fulcrum's here.._. He hadn't flashed in nearly a week, and because of it, the flash made his head hurt a little more than normal. _Nice to know that everything's still working…HA!_ Sarah whispering in his ear made him jump a mile. She must have noticed him tense up. Agent mode, or some derivative thereof, had returned.

"If you just flashed, say something before they do."

Chuck started to talk, but just then, the other thug member's voice as he responded to the Fulcrum Thug's comment triggered another flash: a package of batteries, a MP3 file of a recorded conversation in English, the Great Wall of China, a picture of the headquarters of the Ministry of State Security, the man's MSS record, a package of batteries.

…_oh this isn't good_. His head involuntarily slammed back against the head rest as the headache intensified with the second flash. Sarah covered it by lightly kissing his neck, making him reactively draw her closer while pushing his head back further against the head rest in an attempt to push the headache out. Feeling Sarah react by kissing his neck a little less lightly, his next thought was similar to his previous one. _And THIS probably isn't good, either_.

The stares of all three guards outside the car were a little too attentive to what was going on inside of it. They had taken stock of the two individuals inside, and while it seemed like the most mismatched couple in the history of mankind, both seemed too out of it to be a threat. More practically, they both seemed to be too wrapped up in one another to have triggered the alarm a mere minute ago, if the difficulty they were having keeping their hands off one another with all of them standing there was any indication.

"My apologies, sir. We were looking for someone else. However, since we have had a security breach, I would recommend moving your car somewhere else before…carrying on."

Chuck slightly tilted his head forward to respond, but the thugs had already marched away with military precision, scanning the area for "real" threats other than two people making out in the front seat of a SUV. As the non-Fulcrum, non-Chinese thug scanned the area to his right, the light just happened to cast just the right shadow on his face to trigger the final flash on the thug bunch: a rack of bowling pins, a grainy surveillance picture from some shadowed back alley, St. Basil's Cathedral in Moscow, the seal of the KGB's successor, a rack of bowling pins.

Jamming the button to roll the window back up while trying to ignore his sudden splitting headache, Chuck started talking as soon as he was positive it was shut completely.

"Ohhhhh we're in trouble…"

Sarah wholeheartedly agreed, quietly ramming her forehead into the seat back a few times. _Couch. Counter. And now the damn car. I knew it. We should've just stayed away from anything that starts with "c." EVEN AFTER THAT ENTIRE TALK!_ She cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

"One thing at a time, Chuck…"

It took him a beat before he realized what she had thought. _...oh God, we're in trouble for that, too. Damn it! I completely blame the wedding, even if it has absolutely no connection to this at all!_

"That's not what I meant. One of those guys was Fulcrum. One of them was Chinese intelligence. And one of them was Russian intelligence. I don't know about you, but I don't like the idea of all those guys talking to one another."

Finally trusting herself to sit up and face him, but still not completely sure that her legs were properly functioning again, Sarah slid back to sit nearly on Chuck's knees. She sighed while running her hands through her hair once as she processed the information.

"Yeah, we're in trouble."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: At the risk of sounding like Chuck: I am so terribly sorry that I took so long to get this chapter up. To make a very long story short, the project at work that wasn't supposed to spool up until the end of the month got moved to—you guessed it—the beginning of the month. That, coupled with some issues I had getting this chapter in somewhat presentable shape, resulted in me taking forever._

_Another big thanks to all the reviewers from chapter 3, and again: glad you enjoyed the last chapter. That said, this is the last chapter for the story as a whole. (More on this at the end.)_

_I don't think I'll ever stop finding random typos in all of the chapters, but the scattered ones I did find are fixed; the normal McDuck disclaimer applies, though I didn't proof this one over as closely as I normally do, so I super apologize for any stupid typos. I'll try to proof it again later today or tomorrow._

-.-.-.-

Sarah hadn't moved any from her position on Chuck's legs, and Chuck was making no effort to move her along. Both were still racing through all the professional implications of what they'd discovered—a possible multinational coalition against the US—and the emotional implications of what'd just happened—a definite make-out session after an avowed attempt to behave. Sarah was about to speak when the passenger side back door quickly, but silently, opened. Casey, looking no worse for wear, tumbled in, pulling the door shut just as silently. He was greeted with Sarah's shirt at his feet and one of her throwing knives nearly in his head, the knife embedding in the seat back where Casey's head had been a moment before. Seeing who it was, and his shocked expression as he took in the clothing-festooned interior of the SUV, she offered a small shrug.

"Sorry about the knife."

She then continued on with what she was planning on saying before Casey entered the car, pointedly ignoring him picking up her shirt with one finger and holding it at eye level while shooting her a look.

"We've got to call in a support team to help us take this place down. We've lost the element of surprise, and if the precision of the visitors we just had are indicative of all the guards' training as a whole, things might get a little…dicey with just the two of us. Especially when we're not sure how many guards there are."

Swiping her shirt off his finger before he could even blink, he ended up giving a small grunt.

"Fine. I'll call it in while you get dres…"

Sarah had already shed Chuck's shirt, slid into her own, and was dialing before Casey could get the rest of the snub out. As Sarah called in, Chuck had taken to massaging his temples a few times with his fingertips in an attempt to stop from his head from throbbing while he talked...and in an attempt to block out Sarah moving around so much.

"Casey, just so you know. Flashed on the three guards that came over to check out the car. One was Fulcrum, and the other two were from other countries—China and Russia. None of them are rookies, either."

A noncommittal grunt was all Chuck got in reply. Turning his head as best he could so he could actually see Casey, Chuck noticed him intently staring down Sarah. Casey's warning about reporting them, given only that morning at the Buy More, suddenly popped into Chuck's head. It was then he realized. _Oh shit. He knows. He knows he knows he knows. Please please please let him stay quiet…_

"So, what happened in here? Get a little restless, did we?"

_Or not_. He didn't know how to even begin answering that one.

"The alarm went off, Casey. We had to improvise."

_Oh thank God_. Chuck hadn't even noticed that Sarah had gotten off the phone. Sensing that Casey was about to say something else, she cut him off with a cool glare and single-finger wag.

"Not now. Backup will be here in five minutes…"

_Yes, please, not now_, she thought._ Taking out a warehouse full of enemy agents I can do. I can't do talking about this._

"…and we've got to move the car before they come back. Chuck, do you mind driving around the block?"

He moved to comply before the impossibility of what she was asking dawned on him. _Is she kidding?_

"Uh, no, I don't mind. But, uh...unless you want me to drive blind…?"

She had been staring down Casey, but Chuck's tone caused her to look back at him without thinking. Their eyes connected ever so briefly, but enough to make Sarah totally forget what Chuck had asked.

"I'm sorry, what?"

_FOCUS, for the NINTH TIME IN THE PAST FIVE SECONDS!_

Chuck slightly fidgeted before reluctantly answering. _I can't believe I have to say this._

"I can't see the road with you…there. So—can you move, please?"

…_I'm still sitting on top of Chuck. Shit. _Her positioning meant, among other things, that she was not only impeding his field of vision, but his ability to operate the pedals as well. Not even wanting to think about the ammunition that Casey now had (_In case the scattered clothes weren't enough, Walker?_), she wordlessly moved over to the passenger seat, managing to do so gracefully and without bumping into the monitoring equipment…or into Chuck. Fighting the blush triggered by that last thought fairly successfully, she settled into the chair sideways as Chuck quickly started the car and slowly pulled away from the curb. The silence that dominated the car on the drive to the warehouse had returned, but was laced with an unspoken tension not there previously. Only after they had driven around for a few minutes, right before she got out to coordinate the raid with the backup team, and with Casey already hovering outside of her open door, did she utter a somewhat terse word or two.

"Chuck. I will say this once: stay. in. the. car."

He didn't even want to look over to see if there were real, will-burn-you-to-touch-them flames coming out of her eyes, because he was positive that they'd be there. Her tone was not an amused one. Smoke coming out of her ears also seemed highly plausible. _Holy crap, go go gadget hyperactive agent mode, much? Man._

"Got it. Staying in the car…"

He muttered the last part after she'd already shut the door.

"…under pain of immediate death, as opposed to imminent death."

-.-.-.-

Going up against multiple international spies meant that the raid was not an easy one. While the only casualties were the thugs present, half of the backup team was wounded in the fight. Ultimately, the warehouse was taken over, Chuck was brought in, and the computers present were assessed. His initial take was that his location was correct: all the files copied by the virus were on the computers located in the warehouse, and that none of the files had been sent anywhere else. Preferring to err on the side of caution, and figuring what Beckman would say, he was working on checking that nothing had been sent elsewhere. He'd have answers for them all in several hours.

Interacting with Sarah while checking the computers had been slightly tense, but not obviously so. Both of them had kept busy and as far away from one another as possible, neither wanting to risk slipping in front of so many other agents while both were working on a near-hair trigger. Once they entered the car, away from the others, not to mention a small space AND the scene of the crime, the tension was much more noticeable. Casey did nothing to help alleviate it as he drove, rotating his accusatory look between Sarah in the front seat and Chuck in the back via the rear-view mirror. With the tension amplifying his headache, Chuck ended up clamping his eyes shut and resting his head against the cool window glass, attempting to freeze the raucous drumline in his head into submission.

The tension at Casey's had initially been just as high, but progressively got better as the debrief continued. After Chuck made a beeline straight for Casey's medicine cabinet for some much needed Advil, both Casey and Sarah looked at him with concern. That in itself lessened the tension in the room. The residual tension still made him feel as if he was about to pop, and as soon as Beckman came online, Chuck was talking a mile a minute before anyone could stop him. His increased enthusiasm as he went on, in part to the much more bearable headache, ended up putting everyone at ease. He ended up saying everything much faster than either agent could have—_since you skimped on certain details_, opined the voice in his head—not letting Beckman get a word in edgewise with his nervous-fueled chatter.

"…so, I'm checking to see if the files were sent anywhere else, I'll start working on the author of the virus again later today, and the people still at the warehouse are running searches for you guys to see if the virus snagged any classified files, and that's really i…"

An all-too-familiar chirp cut Chuck off in midsentence. His cell phone was ringing. _…since when am I so popular?_

Casey let out a full scowl, taking a menacing step toward Chuck before controlling himself. Sarah ground her teeth and did her best to look impassive. _That goddamn phone again! Next time I get my hands on it, if I don't snap it in half, I'm changing the ringtone._

He glanced down at the caller ID, did a double take once he saw who it was, and wildly motioned everyone to be silent—even though he was the one talking when the phone rang—and answered it.

"Hey sis."

Ellie sounded tired, but happy overall, even if she was slightly surprised to hear how alert Chuck sounded.

"Hey yourself. Just got home from work and saw your car and Sarah's car out front, but your bedroom door's open and I noticed that the room's empty. Where are you guys?"

_Crap._ He had forgotten that Sarah's Porsche was still parked outside from earlier. His eyes snapped up and caught Sarah's, the message transmitted surprisingly clear: uh oh. Starting to pace around the apartment, his free hand started telegraphing his thoughts as he responded. He was completely oblivious to the fact Beckman was on the phone as well, and she was looking more and more grim as she listened to who was on the other end of the call.

"Oh, you know. We decided to go for a walk."

The surprise in Ellie's voice was even more obvious now.

"…at four in the morning?"

_Oh of _course_ AT FOUR IN THE MORNING. What better time to go for a walk your extremely beautiful fake girlfriend?_ He started frantically gesturing Sarah over, whose attention had been divided between watching Chuck and watching Beckman. Stopping dead in his tracks, he tilted the phone so she could hear as she drew near with a quizzical expression on her face. He raised his eyebrows and jerked his head toward the phone a few times as he overemphasized his answer.

"Wow, really? We totally lost track of time, didn't we, sweetie?"

Leaning in slightly to answer, she ended up accidentally brushing against Chuck's arm. Each jumped a mile and ended up unintentionally recoiling from the other, both suddenly out of breath. Chuck was looking at her intensely, unaware that he was hilariously still holding the phone about three inches away from his head. She focused her attention on the ceiling as she took a few deep breaths, willing her heart to stop racing. _Definitely was not anticipating _that. The tension was suddenly back in the room.

Quickly looking over at Casey and Beckman, she was relieved to find them both unaware of what had just happened: Beckman was still focused on her phone conversation, and Casey was intently listening to Beckman's whispered end of the conversation. Snapping her eyes back to Chuck, she realized Ellie was still on the other end, waiting for an answer. _Hurry up and spit something out!_ Taking one more deep breath before she did so, she took a step toward the phone, consciously making sure that there would be no more accidental contact.

"Oh absolutely. It's so nice out tonight."

The sentence came out much less firm than she wanted it to. _Well put, Walker. Christ. At least you didn't say anything about Chuck being adorable. _The slight breathlessness wasn't lost on Ellie. She let out a squeal so audible that it caused Casey to turn around and look at them, the flinch visible on his face.

"You two are too cute! Devon gets off shift in a few hours—how about I make breakfast-for-lunch for us all later, since it seems like you guys will be sleeping in late, too?"

_Oh no no no. The same bed with Chuck? Tonight? Bad bad bad plan._ She couldn't stop her eyes from growing wide, and started shaking her head a little too quickly. Fortunately, Chuck was thinking the same thing. _Same bed would be REALLY bad. _Particularly after the accidental brushing. His stammer broke the worst of the tension, but the undercurrent remained.

"Uh, I don't think Sarah was planning on staying the night…"

He could just imagine Ellie's eyes narrowing.

"Chuck Bartowski, it is 4am in the morning. You're going to make your girlfriend drive home late at night in LA after keeping her out until the wee hours of the morning?"

Sarah scrunched her eyes shut and tried to take a few more calming breaths. What had to be said was all too obvious, especially after Ellie brought it up, but she was trying to steady her voice before she did so. Sneaking a quick peek at Chuck, he had his eyes firmly shut. He, too, seemed to know what the best answer would be.

"I wasn't planning on staying, but if you want me to…"

His answer was much more rapid than she thought it would be.

"Of course I want you to."

With their 'official' side conversation complete, Chuck put the phone back to his ear, not even noticing Sarah's slight gape-mouthed expression at the speed of his response.

"Breakfast later sounds great. I'll let you get to sleep, though."

Another squeal and a 'good night' later, Chuck was off of the phone and walking toward the front door. Only working on a few hours' sleep was now hitting him like a ton of bricks. Beckman was now off the phone as well and looked rather unsettled.

"If you guys don't need me for anything else, I'm going to go. That alright?"

Oddly, Beckman looked relieved that Chuck was ducking out early, and spoke before Casey or Sarah could.

"That's fine, Mr. Bartowski. Nice work tonight. We'll talk more later. Agent Walker will be over soon."

The praise caught him offguard, as did Beckman's comment about Sarah, but he managed to stutter out a response as he opened the door.

"Oh, uh…thanks? And Sarah, I'll leave the window open for you."

Not even turning around to see her give a slight nod as she resumed her position next to Casey, Chuck pulled the door shut behind him and started across the courtyard. _I need more Advil. And a very, very cold shower_.

-.-.-.-

Chuck was no sooner out the door than Casey started.

"General, I feel that it is my duty to inform yo…"

Sarah's heart stopped. _Is he really doing this?_

The vehemence with which Beckman cut him off surprised them both.

"Not now, Major."

Seeing their shocked faces, her own expression softened somewhat as she sighed.

"We might have a serious problem."

Beckman was silent after that, deep in thought. When she started talking again, any vestige of her prior concern was gone.

"Mr. Bartowski's account of the evening was fairly complete. While the portion about an international coalition against the US is troubling, I don't think we need to go over the entire evening again. Was there anything he missed?"

_You're going to dangle a "we might have a serious problem" in front of us and then act like nothing's wrong? What the hell!_ Casey started talking, overriding Sarah's previous thoughts about Beckman's sudden mood shift. _Oh shit, here we go again…_

"No, ma'am. I was only going to say how useful the Intersect really was on this mission, that's all."

A distracted nod came from Beckman. Sarah looked over at Casey surreptitiously before answering herself.

"I second that, General. Chuck was invaluable."

"Excellent. Good night."

The connection cut off before either of them could utter a similar closing. Sarah immediately wheeled around to square off with Casey.

"OK, Casey, what gives."

He shot her an odd look while heading over to the computer desk.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Walker."

_Going to make me spell it out, are you. Fine._ She calmly strode over to the computer desk and slammed both of her palms on the surface with a bit more force than was probably necessary. At the very least, she now had Casey's attention.

"Out of the blue this morning, you threaten to report me to Beckman. Tonight right before the raid, we essentially had a staring match in the car after the alarm went off—_And after you figured out Chuck and I were making out, but I'm not spelling THAT out_—and you stare me down the entire way back from the raid. Yet, you don't utter a word to Beckman tonight during the debrief about ANY of it. So, I'll ask you one more time: what gives."

Out of all possible Casey reactions, Sarah would have never guessed the reaction she got: Casey actually relaxed before _chuckling_, pouring himself a glass of scotch, and then settled into his easy chair before answering.

"I threatened you this morning because having to stand and listen to Bartowski talk geek made me want to kill someone."

Sarah had now relocated herself so that she was standing in front of the chair, but off to the side. Her face was a mix of skeptical and puzzled. Casey took a long swig from his glass before looking right at her.

"This morning, Bartowski pissed me off. That was the first threat I could think of that didn't involve killing him. Tonight worried me because I couldn't tell whether it had an effect on either of you after it happened. To try and figure it out, I decided to bring it up blatantly and stare you both down the entire way home. For the record, it didn't seem to be bothering either of you so much that it stopped you from doing your jobs. I know this wedding is screwing with you both. I see it. And I also see that it's getting worse. You need to deal with it before it does start messing with missions, or else I _will_ report you."

_I don't believe it. Is Casey being…human?_ She continued to give him the skeptical look.

"You're telling me that you had no intention of reporting me?"

Gruff Casey reappeared. He shrugged while draining the rest of the scotch from his glass.

"No. It'd be too hard to break in another CIA agent as a partner. Like I said, though—let it mess with the missions, and then it'll seriously be game over."

_Which is what I thought he'd say all along_. Her skeptical look was finally replaced by a small smile as she started walking toward the door. The smile slowly faded and a sigh escaped her lips as she stepped out into the courtyard and quietly answered Casey, so quietly that he almost didn't hear her.

"Guess I better go deal with it, then."

-.-.-.-

Chuck was already showered, changed, and in the process of clearing the piles of textbooks and papers off the bed when she silently stepped through the window. She had waged a personal battle with agent mode on the walk across the courtyard, and was still not sure who had finally prevailed. Not turning when she entered, he continued to make small stacks and move them to the floor, allowing Sarah ignore her own inner turmoil and to simply watch him as he did so. She couldn't help but notice that he looked inexplicably sad.

"What's wrong, Chuck?"

He obviously hadn't heard her climb though the window, and was startled as he turned to face her. The small smile he gave her was tinged with the same sadness as before.

"Nothing. Just moving some stuff around. Not sure if you needed something to sleep in or not, so I put a t-shirt and pair of pajama pants on the desk chair in case you did."

_That was the most BS answer ever._ She tried again.

"Is your head still bothering you?"

The question surprised him.

"What? Oh, no, I'm fine. The headache was just because I haven't flashed in a while. The Advil helped, and I'll be totally fine once I sleep.

_If he doesn't want to talk about what's wrong, fine. _She neutrally nodded, moving toward the chair to gather the clothes he'd set out before going to change.

They were now situated as far apart as possible—Chuck on the far side of the bed, Sarah near the desk chair—and a rather loaded silence had fallen. With the distance now between them, Chuck blurted out what was wrong.

"Sarah, I need to know. What happened in the car. Did that…that whole thing, did it happen just because I just happened to be the one there…or because it was me?"

_Well doesn't this sound oddly familiar. Last time we had this talk, we were standing in front of a Christmas tree after a non-bomb explosion..._ Sitting down in the chair while slightly sighing, she focused on his closet door while answering in a firm, but kind, voice.

"I would have done the same thing regardless of who it was sitting in the driver's seat. Because of how everything occurred, it was the logical ploy to avoid being caught."

That was the answer he was expecting. He tried his best to keep his expression impassive and continued to stack books as he dealt with being rejected yet again. The answer confirmed his worst fear. _The slips are just because of the wedding, not because of me. I knew it._

"BUT," making his entire head snap toward her, "the way that everything…," pausing for the right word that wouldn't make her more self-conscious than she was already, "…_progressed_…that's because it was you and not someone else."

_...was there a particular reason you had to say that all so explicitly?_

The grin that spontaneously broke out across his face negated the effects of pausing for the right word. She had never felt more self-conscious in her life, but she now knew exactly why she said it all, the grin soon spreading to her face as well as she slipped out to change.

_That grin is exactly why._

Upon entering the room again, the bed was cleared, and Chuck was in the process of pulling down the bed's covers, huge grin still plastered on his face. The silence in the room was much more comfortable, Sarah being the one that broke it this time.

"What are we going to do about all these slips?"

The grin turned to panic. _Shit, totally forgot that those damn things started all of this._

"Wait, did Casey say something after I left?"

"Yes and no. He said something to me about it, not to Beckman."

Chuck looked at her, waiting for her to elaborate while she crawled on to her side of the bed and got comfortable. When no elaboration came, he rolled his eyes as he threw the sheet over her before climbing into bed himself, specifically staying on top of the sheet. _Only one of us has had the benefit of a cold shower…_

"And what did Casey say?"

She had been ready to protest the sheet barrier between them, but as soon as he had also gotten into bed, she decided that it was maybe a good idea after all: she'd been too busy noticing him a scant foot and piece of fabric away, and completely hadn't heard his question. _Damn it. This is why the same bed tonight was bad._

"Hmmm?"

Surmising the source of the problem, he propped himself up on his side to put a bit more space between them and asked his question again. He got an answer the second time.

"Casey's position is that if the slips start interfering with missions, then he'll tell Beckman."

"What's your position on the slips?"

_Oh. shit._ Mimicking his position, she used her elbow to balance on one side while facing him, trying to stall for time.

"…I honestly have no idea."

His eyebrows shot up. _Did she just not play the handler/asset card? There's a first._ The only response he had was to repeat her answer in the form of a question.

"You have no idea?"

"No idea."

Agent mode had managed to reappear somewhere along the way, and was screaming at Sarah to leave it at that—to just turn off the light, and let the conversation die. Had Sarah not looked directly into Chuck's eyes, agent mode probably would have won, but instead, she found herself quickly spewing out the entire dilemma that had been festering inside of her since the slips began.

"The slips themselves aren't bad—they solidify our cover. What's bad is that we both seem to feel _something_ when they happen, and the _something_ is getting to be harder to ignore. Aside from the professional concern with that problem, you've made it abundantly clear that we have no future, which makes it particularly hard to swallow. So, yes, I have no idea what my position is on the slips."

Seeing his eyes widen at the gravity of what she'd said, she mentally played back her speech, and her eyes were soon as wide as Chuck's. _…I just said that all. I really said that all. And I just sort of admitted feelings for Chuck. Dammmmmmmmmmn it. _Not able to run anywhere, and not able to deal with him at the moment, she settled for falling on to her back and pulling the sheet up over her head.

The conversation had suddenly taken a very serious turn. In telling her own reason for feeling so conflicted, she had managed to hit Chuck's dilemma square on the head as well. _And that is _exactly_ why I feel so bad about slipping in the first place—the fact that I'm officially the one keeping us apart._ He ended up scooting over toward her side of the bed, and found his forehead resting on her sheet-covered one before he could stop himself.

"Would you have an idea what your position was if we possibly had a future together?"

Feeling her become very still, he kept talking before he lost his nerve.

"The slips aren't easy for me either. When I said we didn't have a future, it's not because I didn't want us to have one. It just didn't seem feasible, with the non-cover lives we both lead. And maybe it's still not feasible, but it's becoming increasingly hard to think that with…everything. So, maybe it's feasible. Maybe it's possible."

_There. That sounds as close to the truth as possible without making me sound like an opportunistic scumbag. _Sensing that she was trying to move, he slid back over to his side of the bed, and soon found a pair of clear blue eyes peering over the edge of the sheet, looking at him. Needing to make the moment a bit less serious, he grabbed the comforter and made it so that his eyes were the only part of him poking out, too. His actions resulted in a laugh from Sarah—_thank God_—and a sheet-covered punch in the shoulder. He played up the moment a bit more when he fake howled in agony and rubbed his shoulder—though that part was a bit less fake—making her laugh even more. His voice was muffled by the blanket when he spoke.

"I completely had that coming."

Hers was considerably less muffled by the sheet.

"Damn right you did. Easier than killing you, too."

She waited a moment before returning to their previous topic.

"Were you serious about…that?"

He opted for a serious answer, though the tongue-in-cheek one about what "that" was, exactly, was tempting.

"Yes. Does it help?"

_And by "help," do you mean, "make things incredibly more complicated but make me feel incredibly better"?_

"I'm not quite sure. Can I sleep on it and let you know?"

"Absolutely."

He didn't want to make her feel worse by telling her that _he_ had to sleep on it, too. _What did I get us into now?_ Stifling a yawn, and with their main conversation clearly over for the night, he reached over and turned off the light, careful not to have another accidental bump while doing so. Plunging the room into darkness and relative silence, he cracked one last joke as he burrowed under the comforter fully before the silence became too pregnant.

"And hey, I promise—I'll even keep my hands on my side of both the bed AND the sheet tonight."

That earned him a smack with a pillow, along with laughs from them both. When the silence came again, it was a comfortable one, both of them deep in thought. Those thoughts soon lead to sleep.

-.-.-.-

"Wait, what's the difference between the contemporary ornate centerpiece and the contemporary modern centerpiece, again?"

Sarah almost had orange juice coming out of her noise with Chuck's question—his tone was innocent, but she could see the mischief dancing in his eyes. Ellie didn't notice, and launched into the difference between the two again with the utmost seriousness, as if lives depended on their decision. The primer on reception hall wedding table centerpieces gave Sarah time to reflect on how the day had gone thus far. The morning—_or afternoon, really_, she thought—had started out with a knowing sort of silence between them both, but had quickly broken down into the same normal banter and kidding that simultaneously acknowledged the big question mark from last night.

The banter and kidding had grown when breakfast-for-lunch had unintentionally morphed into another planning session as they all sat around the dining room table, complete with yet another wedding-themed chick flick (_27 Dresses_, this time). They'd made quite a bit of progress, and only a few of the previously far-too-many unplanned details remained, the question of centerpiece style being one of them.

With Ellie still going on and on, Chuck leaned over and whispered to Sarah in a completely kidding tone, snapping her out of her thoughts. He nodded toward the movie, where an entire bar full of people, complete with people dancing on top of the bar counter itself, were singing along to Elton John's "Bennie and the Jets."

"So, would I have had more luck last night if I belted out 'Bennie and the Jets' first?"

_What the hell is he talking about?_ Focusing on the movie (_rather than the fact that his lips are inches away from my ear_), she soon discovered what he meant: after the bar scene, there was a car make-out scene that ended up turning into a…

She snapped her head toward him once she saw _exactly _what he meant by "more luck." Once her heard had turned, he had started waggling his eyebrows up and down with the official grin across his face. Attempting to specifically keep some distance between them, she answered with as serious of a voice she could muster. A smirk still snuck out.

"While that would certainly be a sight, I told you before: the grin and eyebrows work just fine, neither of which you employed last night."

The grin managed to get bigger and the eyebrows stayed up for a beat. Sarah felt her resolve crumbling and began to close the gap…

…when his cell phone decided to ring. She didn't even give him the chance to make the decision to ignore the chirping, pulling away with an outright pissed look on her face.

"Ohhh no, not again. That's it. Give me the phone."

He comically started hopping his chair toward the other end of the table as he got the phone out of his pocket to see who was calling. When he looked down to check the caller ID, she made her move…literally, launching out of her chair in an attempt to grab the phone. The only result was a short grappling match while sitting in the chair itself, with Chuck using his longer arms to hold the phone out of reach, followed by the chair tipping over and spilling them on to the ground. Wrestling on the carpet, the end result was Chuck being pinned with his back to the carpet…and Sarah being pinned to Chuck, with him managing to snake an arm around her sometime during the course of the struggle. The phone was in his other hand, outstretched above his head, ever so slightly out of her reach.

It was only once she stopped trying to squirm out of Chuck's grasp that she saw what _she'd_ managed to maneuver them into this time. Her face was right above his, and with how he had her pinned, she was solidly against his stomach. Ellie had stopped talking about centerpieces long ago, and both her and Awesome were ducking under the table to watch the showdown. Chuck's eyes were extremely apologetic, knowing that he hadn't helped any, and meekly handed her his cell phone, which had long since stopped ringing. She let out a small growl as she shut it off, pocketing it herself before looking back down at Chuck.

_Cell phone. Chair. Carpet. Damn it to hell. Goddamn wedding. Yet again._

Allowing him to move, he surprised her by sitting up and placing a tender kiss to her forehead, murmuring a "sorry, wasn't thinking" as he did so. Before she could even react, he was standing, offering her a hand up. As he righted his own chair and pushed her own in, giving Ellie his opinion on the centerpieces as he did so, the recent swearing at all "c"s made her realize.

_Chuck starts with "c," too._

-.-.-.-END-.-.-.-

**Sequel**: Chuck vs. the Watcher (see author profile)

_A/N2: I just realized while writing thank yous that I managed to hit two of Arathorn's three possible "c"s. That was an accident, but certainly an amusing one at that._

_Thought this would be better to put down here rather than spoil the fun before the chapter was even read. I purposely left it a little open-ended for a possible sequel; and no, I do not have an entire sequel plot in mind at the moment, so there may not be one at all. I honestly could not give you odds of there being one if you asked me. If there is a sequel, it will not be for a long while—late April is a realistic estimate, unfortunately, with this project getting moved up. But, at that point, episode canon may have overridden everything (wishful thinking?), so we'll have to see. There may be intermittent one shots (…serious one shots, not one-shot stories that evolve into non-one shots) between now and then, but that'll depend on whether I think of anything worth writing and actually have the time to write it. Nothing new there._

_I'm still unsure about whether I like how all of this ended up coming out. I guess my uncertainty from the first chapter has carried through all the way to the end. Regardless, thank you again so much for reading this entire thing, and I am extremely glad that most reviewers seemed to enjoy it. If, perchance, you didn't enjoy it, I vow to do better next time._


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